


Stocking Stuffers

by keelywolfe



Series: by any other name [40]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, Humor, Husbands, Love, M/M, Mentions of Therapy, Relationship Discussions, Schmoop, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Therapy, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Undertale Monsters on the Surface, mentions of depression, papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-06 06:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 11,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: A series of Holiday-ish stories and drabbles.





	1. Cuddlier Than a Cactus

**Author's Note:**

> I’m pretty sure once a story gets to this point of sap, I can no longer call it fluff and I am required by law to call it schmoopy. It’s honestly too long to be called a drabble but I was hoping to do a series of Holiday-related stories and this is going with ‘em. Call them stocking stuffers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stretch likes it when Edge takes a detour off the daily routine beaten path. He really likes it.

* * *

Stretch wasn’t sure what had gotten into Edge today but he sort of hoped they dosed the water with it regularly, because he liked it.

He really really liked it.

When he’d gone downstairs that morning, still yawning and bleary, Edge had still been in the kitchen.

“what are you doing here?” Stretch had asked blankly, which, thinking back on it seemed a little unfriendly, but hell, he’d been surprised, nay, shocked, to see Edge there when he was three hours past the point of being at work. 

Edge was taking a bowl out of the refrigerator and he carried it to the stove where a hot griddle was waiting, pouring three perfect rounds of batter on it. “I stayed home.”

“you stayed home?” Stretch parroted, like an idiot, but eh, he hadn’t had coffee yet. Something that Edge quickly rectified, handing him a warm mug of gorgeous liquid love that was swimming with cream and sugar. He gave Edge a quick, grateful kiss and drank half of it with one gulp.

“I stayed home,” Edge agreed, giving the pancakes a quick flip. “I called and told them I was taking a mental health day.”

“you…you’re playing hooky!” Stretch said gleefully. He set his coffee cup aside carelessly enough to send warm liquid sloshing over his fingers, and wrapped both arms around Edge from behind, ignoring his impatient huff. 

“What I am doing is cooking.”

“cooking while you’re playing hooky,” Stretch corrected, and nuzzled a kiss against his cervical vertebrae before relenting and letting him go. “why are you playing hooky, what’s going on, what are we doing? i get to play too, right?”

“Sit down,” Edge told him, and he did, snagging up his cup again as Edge set a plate of pancakes in front of him. There was the brush of teeth against his skull as he dug in. “And of course you do. I stayed home to spend the day with you.”

Stretch paused in the middle of chewing. He’d get a smack if he talked with a mouthful and so he settled for giving Edge wide, happy eye sockets that he hoped stated clearly, _who, me?_

With a small, secretive smile Edge sat across from him with his own plate, “Eat up.”

Oh, that was cruel, his baby had a hell of a mean streak. Stretch ate quickly, mentally considering and discarding ideas of what Edge might have in mind. He never could have guessed the reality of it. But he liked it. 

Spending the entire day lazing together on the sofa, making out like teenagers, was not something they’d ever done before, and Stretch would be perfectly happy to do it any and every time Edge wanted. 

Edge being the exhaustive sort of planner that he was even his spontaneity had a strategy. The coffee table was loaded with snacks and drinks, and he’d set up a playlist of holiday movies and cartoons that would last most of the day. Those kinds of shows were sort of fascinating to Stretch; he remembered seeing some of these in Underswap only they’d been _different_ , a little, here and there.

For one, he was never going to get over the fact that in this universe it was _Charlie_ Brown 

They watched movie after cartoon, sharing kisses and snuggles under the blanket, but never so much as delving beneath each other’s shirts. It was like when they were first dating, not the unholy catastrophe that was their first kiss, oh no, that was better left to dusty memories, but after that. It had taken months for them to make their way past kisses and petting. Never in his life before had Stretch spent so long sharing nothing but kisses with another person, working their way up to sex. 

Then again before Edge, he hadn’t really dated that much, either.

Back then, once kisses were on the table it was as if Edge couldn’t get enough of them. Kisses and touching and cuddling, he soaked it in like a dry sponge and Stretch had damn well basked in it. Once Edge had started, he’d never really stopped, probably making up for years of being starved for a touch.

When they slept, Edge liked him pressed up against him, limbs tangled. Watching television, Stretch’s head was often in his lap or on the very best days, Edge liked to be the little spoon and have Stretch wrapped around him like a blanket. He loved those days; Edge had high HP and he was always so warm, like snuggling with his own miniature sun. 

Mister Grabby Hands liked Stretch within reach in case there were any hug related emergencies and Stretch was more than happy to stay within arms-length. It was all fine with Stretch. He was perfectly content to be Edge’s cuddle bear. Like it was a hardship to endure sweet kisses and snuggles every morning and night? 

The tragedy was he doubted Edge had ever had that before and Stretch was a selfish enough bitch to be glad he was the one to give him that.

He and Blue had always been the huggy kind of brothers, from childhood when he’d started taking care of Blue until the point Blue had pretty much started taking care of him. Hugs of greeting, his knuckles scrubbed roughly over his brother’s skull, nights spent leaning against each other watching Napstaton, or days of gathering his brother close to shortcut around Underswap. Stretch was used to casual touches despite his low HP. 

If he honestly thought about it, Stretch didn’t think he’d ever seen Red and Edge so much as shake hands. So…yeah. 

His biggest source of frustration was that Edge would never ask for what he wanted. He was a giving kinda guy but he never coughed up a wish list of his own. 

Made Gyftmas shopping a bitch, too. 

When the credits to ‘White Christmas’ started to crawl up the screen, Edge shifted from where he was curled up in Stretch’s arms, looking over his shoulder at him. “What do you want to watch next?”

Instead of answering, Stretch pressed their mouths together, kissing softly until the music finally faded. Only then did he draw back and whisper, “can we watch the grinch?”

“Of course.” Edge reached out and pressed a button on the remote and music swelled again, the screen filling with animation and fond memories. Stretch rested his chin on top of Edge’s skull, settling in with a contented sigh, one that was mirrored by the warm, wonderful person in his arms. 

There were more movies and kisses shared, each one softer and sweeter than the last, and Stretch secreted the memory of this day into his soul. 

He never wanted to forget a moment of this. 

-finis-


	2. All Wrapped Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are experts at gift wrapping. And then there is everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healthy relationships can have discussions about boundaries and consent. I like healthy relationships and such discussions exist here, FYI, but there’s nothing explicit at all. Also mentions of therapy.

* * *

“How is it you can calculate the square root of a Pythagorean theorem but can’t figure out the correct amount of paper to wrap a present?”

Stretch gave him a sour look from the midst of his chaos. “for starters, you don’t even know what that means, that’s just two mathsy sounding words that you’re shoving together to see if they’ll stick. second, i don’t remember asking for your help.”

As he folded paper carefully up the side of his box, Edge glanced at Stretch. “But can you calculate it?”

“of course i can, but that’s not the point,” Stretch sniffed.

“As for asking for help…” He gave the crumpled paper and uneven lengths of ribbon scattered around Stretch a pointed look. “The wrapping paper itself did. It took one look at what you did to their brethren and begged me to save it.”

Stretch reached out and gave him a light shove. “i don’t think i like you when you’re whimsical. go back to being surly, i know how to handle that.”

“You would be the expert on whimsy. There, that’s one.” Edge sat a neatly wrapped box into the pile with Stretch’s somewhat less than perfect efforts. With crisply folded edges and a bright trail of ribbons, it was a shining beacon of holiday cheer in comparison to the other raggedly wrapped boxes. “I’m not sure why you have such a difficult time with it, it’s not that hard, you just…ouch!” Edge yelped. He rubbed his scapula disbelievingly where the bone was still stinging. “Did you just _bite_ me?”

“me?” Stretch asked innocently. He slouched back onto his elbow, sprawling out into the mess of wrappings. He clicked his teeth together and smirked. “maybe a nibble. call it a reward for your _biting_ commentary, mama bear.” 

Edge’s hands went still on unwrapped package he’d just nestled into a fresh cut of paper. “What did you call me?”

“oh, sorry, i forgot, you like daddy better.”

He yelped as Edge tackled him, pinning him down amongst the colorful paper scraps and scrolls of foil trimming. He caught Stretch’s wrists in both hands, straddling his pelvis, and smirked down at him. “If you’re so determined to make me into a parental figure, maybe I should spank you like one.”

Instead of the laughter he expected, a shadow crossed Stretch’s face. He looked uncomfortable and before Edge could process that, he was squirming in Edge’s grip, “let me up.”

Immediately, Edge let him go and moved off him entirely, putting a little space between them. He waited as Stretch sat up, gave him a moment before asking, carefully, “All right?”

“yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” Stretch waved him off with a weak laugh. “sorry about that.”

“Never apologize for that. If anyone should, it would be me,” Edge said firmly. He kept back, resisting the urge to reach out.

“i don’t want you to apologize either, normally i’m good for it,” A little color heated in his cheekbones, a gentle flush of warm orange. “i mean, usually i like it when you drive the car.”

“But…” Edge promptly softly. 

Stretch fidgeted, twining a length of ribbon around his fingers. “…but i had a therapist appointment today. she gets stuff in my head all stirred up. half the time when i leave her office, i either want to come home and screw you senseless, or i…” he shrugged, helplessly.

“Or you don’t want to be touched at all?”

“no, no, no,” Stretch shook his head, almost panicked. “i _want_ to be touched, i just don’t want to be trapped. not tonight.”

Edge considered that, how to touch him without confining. “Here.”

He tapped the inside of Stretch’s femur, encouraging him to spread his legs wider and settled to sit cross-legged between them with his back against Stretch’s chest. “How’s this?”

Stretch shifted to cross his own legs overtop of Edge’s, tucking his socked feet into his lap, and slid his arms around him. He was tall enough that he could settle his chin comfortably on Edge’s shoulder. 

“better,” Stretch admitted. 

Briefly, Edge covered Stretch’s hand with his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Good.” 

It didn’t exactly make wrapping presents any easier, but Stretch’s light weight leaning into him, the soft press of his skull against Edge’s own, was a welcome touch. With brisk efficiency, Edge made his way through the pile of packages, occasionally pausing for a contented sigh as Stretch’s hands wandered over him, sometimes catching his wrist warningly when they strayed to dangerous territory. 

He’d be done soon enough, and Stretch was much better at unwrapping his presents. 

-finis-


	3. Snowbody Knows the Trouble I've Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing in the snow isn't just for children. Big kids can have fun, too.

* * *

Edge was sliding the last tray of cookies into the oven when he heard the front door open, Stretch calling, “edge!”

He’d long ago learned the various inflections Stretch could put on his name and this time there was nothing in his voice but eagerness. Stretch had been outside in the snow for most of the morning and it seemed he was about to see the results.

Wiping his hands on his apron, Edge leaned against the counter and waited, but not for long.

Stretch was never prettier than when he was excited. As he dashed into the kitchen, he practically sparkled with it, bouncing in his toes like one of the neighborhood children he’d been spending his morning with. With color high on his cheekbones, flushed from the chill, and his scarf coming loose, he was a picture of winter loveliness and Edge had to resist the urge to kiss warmth back into him. 

“we need your help,” Stretch announced grandly. Edge couldn’t even be annoyed at the way his boots were dripping melting snow on his clean kitchen floor.

“Do you?” Edge asked as neutrally as he could. It was difficult not to smile when Stretch was beaming at him.

Stretch managed to school his face into something close to serious, nodding solemnly. “we are in dire need of your assistance.” He couldn’t maintain it, his grin breaking free again, “come outside and play with us!”

Edge glanced at the timer, considering. “Give me ten minutes.”

“you got it.” Before he could escape back outside, Edge caught hold of him, fixing his scarf before cupping his jaw in both hands and stealing a kiss. Stretch leaned into it for a moment but broke away all too quickly.

“oh! you’ll need these.” He plopped a paper bag on the counter and dashed back outside.

Edge shook his head and with no little trepidation, looked in the bag. It was filled with ribbons and he pulled one out with a frown. Emblazoned across it in gold foil was the word, ‘winner!’.

What exactly had he gotten himself into?

In due time, he made his way outside where Stretch was standing with half a dozen children, towering over them for all the world like the tallest kid in town. “here he is guys, our judge!”

Stretch gestured to him with a flourish usually reserved for game show hosts. Edge only looked back at him, unimpressed. “What, precisely, am I judging?”

“Our snowmen!” One of the children piped up and it became an eager chant.

Scattered over the yard were several creations that Edge decided could loosely be called snowmen. He strode over to them, frowning thoughtfully. 

“What criteria am I judging them on?”

He took in Stretch’s suddenly blank expression with amusement. Of course he would have the foresight to get award ribbons and not even come up with basic rules. “Never mind, I can manage.”

He scrutinized each snowman carefully, taking in their construction, artistic license, and creativity. Some of them were taller than the others and all of them utilized various items as enhancements, such as scarves and carrot noses. One of them had used what looked like lifesavers for eyes. Around him, the children shuffled nervously, awaiting his judgement.

At last, he went back to the first snowman, children trailing at his heels.

“This one wins the award for realism,” Edge announced, carefully affixing the ribbon to its scarf. “I’ve met snowmen in the past and they looked very much like this one.”

A rousing cheer rose from his small crowd, one child beaming up at him, their cheeks pink with pleasure.

The next snowman had two heads and an abnormal amount of limbs. “This is an excellent example of abstract design.” He doubted there were two children in the crowd who understood what he meant, but they still cheered, its small creator’s long ears perking up with delight.

“This one…” Edge trailed off. The poor creature was lopsided, its eyes weren’t level and he suspected the only thing keeping its head attached was the scarf. What in the name of the angel had happened to the pathetic thing?

“that one is mine,” Stretch said sweetly, but there was a hint of warning to it that spoke of sleeping on the sofa.

“This one wins for originality,” Edge said smoothly.

“Nice save,” one of the taller children muttered.

By the end, each snowman had been graced with a ribbon and a title. The cheers had dwindled in volume, the children starting to shiver and even Stretch was visibly chilled. He hunched deeper into his coat, his gloved hands tucked into his pockets. Time to wrap this up, then.

“Excellent work, all of you,” Edge told them, making his way back to the house. The children and Stretch followed behind him like oversized ducklings. “I think such dedication is worth a reward, don’t you?”

It only took a moment to bring out the tray he’d set up before coming outside, mugs lined up neatly alongside a bowl of marshmallows and a plate of cookies. He set it on the small table at the side of the porch and retrieved the kettle that was warming on the back of the stove. Each child waited with squirmy politeness as he poured them a cup of cocoa, allowing them to choose their own preference in marshmallow level and a cookie.

Stretch waited for the last cup and Edge suspected there was more marshmallow than cocoa in it. He sipped it with a contented sigh, his hands tight around the warm mug.

“thank you,” Stretch murmured. It wasn’t only for the cocoa, Edge knew.

“Proper care and feeding of minions is an important part of having them,” Edge said blandly and he smiled into his cup at Stretch’s startled laugh.

“gotta do it right, yeah. what do we say to edge, kiddos?”

A ragged chorus of “thank you’s” rose up, most of them muffled by full mouths. 

Edge grimaced. “You’re welcome.”

Despite the cold, the sun was shining down. Edge stood back, watching Stretch as he sat on the porch steps, the children gathering around him to sit. Between sips of cocoa, Stretch was discussing possible activities for next weekend. At the forefront seemed to be a creation of a snow fort and Edge had no doubt that he would be dragged in to help draw schematics, since Stretch could do the calculations but couldn’t draw a straight line to save his soul. It might be best if he helped with the creation as well, considering the structural integrity of Stretch’s snowman…

He’d need to pick up more cocoa powder, Edge decided. They would need enough to last the winter.

-finis-


	4. ‘Tis the Season-ing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cooking is very personal to Edge. That doesn’t mean Stretch can always manage to eat it.

* * *

"what is this? it’s gross."

“It’s risotto and it is not gross,” Edge spooned some of whatever it was on his own plate. To Stretch it looked like desecrated porridge, lumpy, ricey _stuff_. “Try more than one bite before making a life decision about it.”

“i don’t need to take another bite, because it is gross.” His water wasn’t powerful enough to get the taste out of his mouth, and Stretch was very close to dissipating his tongue and starting from scratch just to be rid of it. “is this the shit gordon ramsey is always screaming about? i feel betrayed, i expected it to be like, eating angel’s wings drenched in butter and cheese. this isn’t even as good as dog wings.”

“Dogs don’t have…never mind. It’s rice, you like rice. Do you honestly not like it?” Edge seemed tragically disappointed by Stretch's adamant dislike, he had a serious thing for feeding people up, and usually Stretch would gag whatever it was down and deal, but this? The texture was like chewing wet newspaper, ugh, he loved Edge, but this was putting his wedding vows to the test.

“look, if butter and cheese can’t make it palatable, it’s not meant to be eaten,” Stretch shook his head. “i’m sorry, babe, this needs to go to your recipe graveyard." 

“Maybe I made it wrong?" Edge seemed to have lost interest in eating it himself, only stirring his portion without forking up a bite.

Well, shit. 

That's what he got for opening his big mouth, sometimes Stretch just didn’t _think_. This was just like that time they'd first started dating and he'd casually told Edge he didn’t care for his tapenade. Didn’t matter that he’d scarfed down all the other appetizers; the knowledge that Stretch didn’t care for something he made could hit hard, like someone had tugged out his soul and smacked it around the kitchen. 

“maybe you made it fine and i just don’t like risotto,” Stretch countered. “do you like it?”

Edge shrugged. "It tasted fine to me.”

“there you go. i’m being a fuss, babe, it’s not on you.”

“Fine,” Edge sighed, but he still pushed his plate aside, damn it. “I’ll save it for my lunch tomorrow. Give me a minute, I’ll get you something else to eat.”

That sounded like an invitation for a distraction. 

“ooh, promise?” Stretch leered. He managed to slither in between Edge’s chair and the table, straddling his lap. “keep up with that dirty talk.”

To his relief, Edge’s expression softened into amusement, his hands settling on Stretch’s pelvis. “I was referring to dinner.’

“so am i. you’d be great for dinner.”

“Not particularly nutritious,” Edge pointed out.

“neither is oreos for breakfast, but that’s never stopped me.”

Edge was leaning in to kiss him and stopped. “…wait, what? Why are you eating—I leave you bran muffins every morning.”

 _Fuck, abort, abort, back it up_. Disliking two things Edge made in one day, shit, he might as well write the whole week off as a loss.

"you do, and i am grateful for them every day," Stretch assured him. Every day that he slathered them in butter and honey or topped them with a spoonful of Nutella. Yep. Totally grateful. 

Edge was starting to get that suspicious crease in his brow bone and Stretch quickly leaned in and kissed him as sweetly as he could, cupping his jaw in both hands and stroking his cheekbones with his thumbs. When he opened his sockets, Edge’s eye lights had gone hazy and soft, faintly dazed. 

Perfect.

He ducked his head and caught his mouth again, deepening the kiss until Edge groaned against him. The hands on his pelvis tightened, pulling him in more firmly and Stretch had to bite off a moan of his own. Oh, yeah, this, now, this was the _best_. 

Stretch would be happy to have this for dinner every night. 

-finis-


	5. Playing By The Rules (mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rule was no sex in the kitchen. But aren’t rules meant to be broken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is NSFW, so be warned, please!**

* * *

It had been a little disconcerting when Edge had first met Stretch. 

Ending up in another universe and finding two other Monsters who wore his face? He liked to think that few people were prepared for such a thing. He’d woken in a skewed version of his own home with Papyrus leaning over him anxiously, his sockets wide with concern and Stretch sitting on the sofa, watching them both with apathetic disinterest, a lit cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. 

Disconcerted was probably understating things. 

It had been worse when Stretch eventually stood up. Edge was not accustomed to other Monsters being taller than him, particularly ones who weren’t Boss Monsters. He and Papyrus were of a height but when he wasn’t slouched over, Stretch had a good few inches on them. The loose way he wore his clothes gave him an illusion of bulk, another difference that separated him from Edge and Papyrus. 

They’d figured out the way of things soon enough, the way Stretch and Blue were less mirrored universe and more turned upside down. Even then, at the first meeting, Edge had not found Stretch to be intimidating and never had since, but he’d nonetheless been wary. Guardedness was a wise trait to cultivate in Underfell, particularly with the unknown, and when they’d first come to this universe, the others had been very unknown, indeed. 

Years later, Edge discovered that for all his height, Stretch was slight beneath his clothes, his bones slim and graceful beneath those concealing sweatshirts. He was easy to lift and carry, easy to hold.

Easy to press gasping against their kitchen wall.

“ah, fuck, please,” Stretch whimpered, “oh, please baby love, harder, you gotta…please…” His sockets were scrunched closed, his face flushed brightly with magic and as Edge firmed his grip, pressing back into the slick welcome of his cunt, his cries increased in volume even as words left him. 

His kitchen was unaccustomed to such chaos, clothes strewn over the counters and floor, and from the corner of his socket Edge could see what looked like Stretch’s tank top caught on one blade of the ceiling fan, circling lazily. 

Sex was supposed to be forbidden in the kitchen. They ate in the damn kitchen, it was _unsanitary_ , and Edge had been firm on that edict when Stretch first moved in, along with several others. Somehow, his grip on those rules was loosening, easing, and this was one that had been bent frequently of late and today outright broken. All it had taken was a few teasing touches, a few cheeky remarks, and here they were, with Stretch mostly bare against him, only one sock still clinging stubbornly as he desperately clutched and moaned with every movement.

Heels dug into his pelvic girdle as Stretch tightened his legs around him, trying gather enough leverage to arch up. Edge circled his hips in a slow, deliberate thrust that left Stretch groaning, his blunt fingertips scrabbling at his scapulas.

“Keep talking,” Edge growled out, “I want to hear you, I want to _feel_ you moaning my name.”

Stretch’s sharp cry as he slid into him with unhurried care was as lovely as his expression, pleasure-soaked and dazed. Twin blossoms of orange bloomed in his cheekbones, more glowing softly in his joints, and he was beautiful, so beautiful, and _his_ , wearing his ring and offering him so much, offering him everything, Edge only wanted one more thing in this moment, only one—

“My name,” Edge coaxed, “Say my name.” He stilled, waiting as Stretch’s sockets blinked open, revealing cloudy eye lights and dismay. Some of his pleasured incoherence dissolved, melting into slyness. Stretch caught the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his sockets hooded as he looked back into Edge’s eye lights.

“make me.” 

It sent a surge of pure lust up his spine, Edge growling low and at the precise moment he ducked his head, intending a punishing kiss against that impudent mouth, he heard their front door open. 

“hey, bro, stretch? you guys home?” His brother’s voice, called loudly into their living room and Edge could hear Red’s boots treading heavily on the carpeted floor. 

They stood frozen, staring into each other’s eye lights. The flush of orange at Stretch’s cheekbones brightened, going from pleasure to ruddy embarrassment. There was little doubt that his brother would wander into the kitchen whether or not he thought they were home, intent on raiding their refrigerator, and the only saving grace they’d been given was that he hadn’t simply shortcutted in to begin with. 

The kitchen door was a swinging one, intended for ease in going through it with full hands, and Edge had enough time to consider replacing it with one that locked and also about having a stern discussion with his brother about boundaries and how to fucking _knock_ and absolutely none of that was helping right now.

They couldn’t possibly scramble into their clothes in time, the footsteps were already approaching the door, they had seconds at best and there was only one reasonable option. From the look in Stretch’s eye lights, he’d come to the same conclusion; he still hesitated, his expression one of silent apology.

“Do it,” Edge gritted out and a wave of disorientation swept over him at the same moment the kitchen door began to swing open. 

He was stumbling towards the toilet almost before his feet were solidly on the ground, vomiting magic into the bowl. Vertigo left his senses swimming unpleasantly, fading with merciless sluggishness. Spitting, Edge rested his forehead on the lip of the toilet, focused on breathing evenly as the nausea slowly eased. 

At least he didn’t have to worry about his brother seeing him with his dick out, Edge thought sourly. Sex was currently the last thing on his mind.

The pop of teleportation made his sockets fly open, but it was only Stretch returning with an armful of clothes. He’d already scrambled into a sweatshirt and jeans of his own. Edge hadn’t even noticed him leaving the first time, not that he could blame him. There wasn’t much to do about teleportation-induced sickness except wait for it to fade. 

“Go ahead and laugh before you hurt yourself,” Edge rasped out, resignedly. 

“no! it’s not funny that teleporting makes you sick!” Edge opened a socket to give him a disbelieving look. The carefully neutral expression on Stretch’s face was quivering, his fingers twisting together desperately. He looked away from Edge, his hands rising to cover his mouth, little hitching breaths escaping him. 

Edge raised a brow bone at him, surely an impressive sight from where he was still lying with his head on the toilet seat. It was enough; those little breaths collapsed into guffaws and finally Stretch was howling with laughter, staggering back against the door and sliding down it to collapse on the floor, weak giggles still escaping him as he banged his forehead lightly against the tile. Finally, he managed to sit up, wiping at his sockets with his sleeve. 

“okay, it’s a little funny that we had to teleport into our bathroom to escape your brother in the middle of banging in our kitchen, and now you’re in here trying to puke up your soul,” Stretch conceded, “a little.”

“I don’t appreciate the vomiting, but I can understand the amusement,” Edge said dryly. Warily, he pushed himself upright. His magic was still a little unsettled and for a moment, it roiled unpleasantly then eased, staying where it belonged. Edge reached for the pants Stretch had brought. 

“No sex in the kitchen,” Edge said, sternly, ignoring the impish grin Stretch gave him. 

“whatever you say, babe,” Stretch said agreeably. Entirely too agreeably and Edge sighed inwardly, resigning himself to plenty of playful temptation. It was a sure sign of the corruption of his standards that Edge found he was looking forward to it. But that would have to come later. 

Right now, he had a brother to murder. 

-finis-


	6. Cooped Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one here but us chickens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of depression and therapy in this chapter, along with chickens, just a heads up!

* * *

Edge couldn’t say that he precisely loved his job, but he did usually find it incredibly satisfying. Occasionally exhausting, often frustrating, but it satisfied a deep, unspoken need within himself. 

Usually. 

Today he didn’t want to think any more about treaties or press releases or lawsuits. He wanted to hold his husband and steal a kiss, maybe two. He wanted to make fresh rolls for dinner, feel sticky dough turn elastic and silky between his fingers, and after they’d eaten, he wanted to watch a television show or two about cooking; the holiday episodes of the Great British Baking Show sounded particularly enticing. 

He wanted a few hours of mindless relaxation with Stretch, nothing more, and if the angel was granting wishes today, he hoped she would take his into consideration.

Guiltily, he found himself hoping Stretch was having a good day. His depressive episodes were far from his fault and Edge would never, could never blame him, and still in the dark, secret corner of his thoughts he wished for a good today, for both of their sakes. Stretch had been doing wonderfully the past few weeks, adjusting well to his medications after a few bumps, and if seeing his therapist left him moody and contemplative on those days, he was steadier, a little, on the others. He hadn’t had a nightmare in weeks. Not a cure or a miracle, but if it helped Stretch smile even a fraction more often, then Edge would call it worth it. 

The lights were on when he walked into the house, but Stretch was nowhere to be seen. A quick search did not find him upstairs or down. Glancing out the door, Edge caught sight of his coat tossed carelessly onto one of the patio chairs, heedless of the snow covering it. Edge shook his head and stripped off his own coat, walking briskly through the snow out to the chicken coop. 

Carefully, he opened the door and peered inside. “Love?”

Stretch was sitting with his back against the wall, Dumpling sitting in his lap, chirring contentedly as her feathers were gently petted. He looked up at Edge and smiled, “hey, babe.” 

The coop was not large and two fully grown skeleton Monsters, both of whom tipped the height meter at well over six feet tall, did not fit comfortably. Edge squeezed in next to him anyway, hardly able to close the door before Nugget hopped quickly into his own lap, her clucking a higher pitch than Dumpling’s and eager for gentle scritches. 

“i worry about them out here in the cold,” Stretch said, softly. Noodle was perched close by, her feathers fluffed out against the chill and her legs hidden in the puff of feathers.

“It’s plenty warm enough in here for them,” Edge pointed out. The two of them would be shivering soon enough despite the layers he could see Stretch was wearing and the hat he had pulled down over his skull. They’d done their research and prepared the coop for the upcoming winter before the snow had even fallen. A little extra care of their small flock and they seemed to be doing quite well. 

“yeah…” Stretch sighed. He gave Dumpling a gentle scratch under the chin and she closed her eyes in bliss, her clucking soft with contentment. They were better pets than Edge could have guessed and not only because of the eggs. Eager for petting when Stretch was in the mood for it but not resentful on the days he wasn’t. 

Nugget’s volume button always seemed to go up with a little petting, chirpy little clucks rising as Edge gently ruffled her feathers. He thought for a moment, then offered, “You could rig up an alarm of some sort, to go off if the temperature dips too low?”

Stretch brightened visibly, eye lights shining. “that’s a brilliant idea! i should have thought of that.” 

“You were too close to the problem.” There wasn’t enough room for him to even lean in for a kiss, but he settled his head on Edge’s shoulder, sighing in contentment that matched their two little chickens.

“did you have anything you needed to do tonight?” Stretch murmured. Soon enough he’d be shivering, a coop that was warm enough for chickens was hardly enough for them, and they would go in, perhaps following the plan Edge had earlier, perhaps not. 

“No,” Edge smoothed down Nugget’s feathers, smiling at her coos and clucks. “This is good.”

-finis-


	7. Tough Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge likes to bake cookies. Stretch likes to eat cookies. Surely no problems can arise from that.

* * *

Edge had only experienced a handful of true Gyftmas celebrations. The holiday was not unheard of in Underfell but the less thought about those days, the better. He’d been slow to take to the idea when they’d arrived in this universe, but his first true interest in it had come in the form of cookies. 

Cookies of any kind were a favorite of his and Gyftmas was a perfect opportunity to put his baking skills to the test. His countertop was filled with a variety. Cookies with chocolate swirls alongside delicate caramel crisps. Gingerbread people graced with neatly piped frosting smiles. There were small pies topped with intricate latticework, golden and crisp. Little snowballs decorated with powdered sugar and thumbprint cookies with a teaspoon of jam glistening in the middle. All neatly arranged on cooling racks, waiting to be joined by their brethren when they came out of the oven.

There were plenty of tempting choices, perhaps too many, and Stretch stood indecisively on the other side of the kitchen island, taking in the sugary cookie cornucopia with greedy eye lights. 

Edge waited until he started reaching for one before lightly rapping the back of his hand with a wooden spoon. “Don’t touch.”

Never had such a wounded look been given over his cooking. Stretch clutched his hand to his chest, his expression one of utter betrayal. Surely a confession that Edge had been cheating on him with Jerry wouldn’t have garnered such complete suffering, possibly not even a close second.

“They’re for work,” Edge told him as he rolled out the next batch, the dough studded with crushed peppermint candies. He took a moment to sort through his cookie cutters, choosing one in the shape of a star. “We are doing a potluck and I am making a treat basket for it.”

“but…cookies.” Stretch protested weakly. One hand reached out hopefully and when the wooden spoon threatened, it withdrew, drooping sadly to the counter, cookieless.

Edge set the spoon aside with a last glare of warning. “These cookies are otherwise occupied.”

He had just started cutting out the peppermint dough when Stretch wilted down to the floor, out of sight. Edge gave him a moment as he carefully transferred his starry cutouts to a baking sheet, then peered around the counter. Stretch was sprawled on the floor, legs akimbo and an arm flung over his face.

Ignoring him would be the wisest decision, but Edge had never claimed to be a Monster of any great wisdom. Action suited him better and he asked, warily, “What are you doing?” 

“dying.”

“Dying,” Edge repeated flatly. He shook his head and turned away to put the baking sheet into the oven, starting the timer. “Are you, indeed.”

“it’s cookie withdrawal,” Floated up over the counter in a low moan. “i can feel the last of my baked good essence seeping from me as we speak! it’s fatal unless…” he peeked out at Edge from under his arm, his one visible eye light sparkling with amusement. 

“Unless?” Edge prompted as he measured out sugar and poured it into the mixing bowl with the waiting butter, resigned to carrying out the joke to the end.

“unless i get a cookie, stat!” Stretch sighed pathetically. His sneakers squeaked against the tile floor as he convulsed, wheezing out what was probably meant as a death throe and sounded more like a yowling dog whose tail had been trod upon. “it’s all going dark, the end is near!”

“You can’t have one of these.”

“it’s all right, my love,” Stretch told him weakly, one hand flailing towards him. “carry on without me! i know it will be hard, having to go through your days without me at your side, but be brave! weep for me only on the second tuesday of every month, light a candle for me in the tobacco shop parking lot, tell my brother that i loved him, tell your brother he still owes me ten bucks, and—grk!”

He chewed frantically on the cookie Edge had poked into his mouth, sitting up and beaming at Edge with smug satisfaction.

“thought you said i couldn’t have one,” he mumbled through crumbs.

“You were taking too long to die,” Edge said dryly, resuming his position in front of the mixer. “Besides, I said you can’t have these cookies. The ones over there, however…” 

Stretch was on his feet so quickly Edge wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t teleported. Tucked into the corner was another cooling rack, filled with a mixture of the leftover cookies. His hands fluttered indecisively, lingering over one of the snowy drop cookies, then hesitating above a caramel crisp.

“You may have one,” Edge told him, firmly. He was already mixing the dough for the shortbread, glancing at the timer for the cookies still in the oven. “Dinner is in an hour.”

“dunno, babe, i feel a little faint again…”

“One cookie or I’ll step over you until you get bored. Possibly on you, depending on how annoying you are.”

The grin Stretch shot him said exactly how much he believed that. Another moment of indecision and he finally selected one of the chocolate swirls. Edge pretended not to notice when he palmed one of the snowballs. Arms wrapped briefly around him in a tight squeeze and Edge couldn’t help a quiet sigh, leaning into Stretch’s hug. 

“thanks, babe!” Stretch whispered against the side of his skull. It turned into a wincingly loud crunch as he bit into one of his contraband treats. 

“You’re welcome. Now get out.”

“Love you!” Stretch called and as the door swung shut, Edge allowed himself a chuckle.

“Fool,” he muttered, and if asked, he couldn’t have said if he meant Stretch or himself. Not that it mattered, they were both fools together, in the end. 

Humming softly, he plucked up one of the jam thumbdrops and bit into it, taking a moment to relish the sweetness before going back to work on the next batch. 

-finis-


	8. The Next Sprig Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house is definitely not the same as Edge left it that morning, but maybe he doesn't mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little lewd, flirty humor but nothing really explicit.

* * *

For a brief moment, Edge thought he had somehow walked into the wrong house. Or perhaps that was only wishful thinking because the house he entered was certainly not the same as the one he’d left that morning. 

The tasteful decorations he had put up, (and the few vulgar ones he’d allowed Stretch) hadn’t been displaced but alongside them, scattered around the room, were dozens of sprigs of mistletoe. Hung in the doorways, dangling from the ceiling, fastened to the banister.

The effect wasn’t terrible, exactly…no. It was completely terrible. There was no rhyme or reason to the placement and each bundle was different, from tiny bundles of twigs to garishly huge bundles tied with gaudy ribbons. He couldn’t begin to guess what sort of fractured thought had managed to work its way into Stretch’s constantly twisting brain that made this seem like a brilliant idea, but Edge did know one thing. Persuading Stretch to remove them was going to require careful negotiating.

On the plus side, it was good that he hadn’t known about this because the very thought of Stretch balancing on a ladder to put them up was making him twitch. His love was wonderful, brilliant, and kind, but he was going to have to live without the coveted title of graceful. Edge was fairly certain that Stretch could trip on fog. 

“what do you think?” came lazily from behind him. He turned to see Stretch with his hands in his pockets, wearing what was very likely a pair of Edge’s jeans and definitely one of his sweaters. Red wasn’t really his color, but it didn’t stop Edge from appreciating the sight. The socks were his own, no surprise there, Edge kept to plain colors and didn’t recall owning a pair with lamas in party hats.

He was standing directly beneath one of the colorful, leafy bundles and Edge stepped forward obediently, cupping his jaw in both hands and pressing their mouths together. 

Stretch sighed, sharing a gust of sweet breath as Edge lingering, nuzzling against him. Long minutes passed before Edge drew away, only far enough to be able to look into his eye lights.

“You don’t need mistletoe to get a kiss,” Edge told him in resigned amusement. Stretch was nudging him backwards, stilling him beneath another mistletoe sprig.

“yeah, that’s true,” Stretch agreed and as if to prove it, he stole another small, chaste kiss. “you’re pretty good at keeping my kissing tank topped off. but mistletoe makes kisses magical, i read it in a book!”

With Stretch leaning down into him, it was easy to rest their foreheads together. Edge’s vision blurred from the closeness. He didn’t care. “Every kiss you give me is magical.”

Stretch laughed softly. “that was sappy even for you. i love it. now gimme.”

The ultimate goal was persuading Stretch to take down the mistletoe but that was a battle that could wait a little while. Stretch seemed determined to kiss him beneath each one and Edge couldn’t say he minded. Each sweet kiss ended a little deeper, a little more eager, and he was breathless by the end. His hands drifted lower every time Stretch nudged him to another sprig, until they were resting on Stretch’s pelvis, delving beneath the sweater with his thumbs stroking over the strong arch of his iliac crests.

Stretch’s eye lights were blown wide, hazy and hot, and Edge was about to suggest they take this upstairs when he caught sight of a last bundle of glossy green leaves.

“What’s the point of this one?” The sprig was tied to the back of the armchair with a velvety ribbon, hardly more than waist high. “It’s too low for even our brothers.”

The smirk Stretch gave him could charitably be called mischievous or, more appropriately, evil. “i told you, it’s for magical kisses.” He drew away, slipping down to his knees. “and if you hold still, i’ll give you one.”

Edge closed his eyes against the rough hiss of his zipper, inhaling sharply at the first touch, the first too-soft kiss. 

Maybe a little of the mistletoe could stay. 

-finis-


	9. Without a Mark (mature)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge didn't really need an alarm but he certainly didn't mind being woken up another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A NSFW chapter, just as a warning!

* * *

The alarm going off early in the morning was very familiar to Edge. Five-thirty am, no matter what time he’d gone to bed. He’d never needed as much sleep as his brother, or Stretch for that matter. 

To be perfectly honest, he hardly needed the alarm. He would be awake even without it no matter the day or the time of year, whether the sky was wintry black or starting to show the deep purples of sunrise. This morning his alarm went off and Edge rose with it, perfectly familiar. The slim arm that wrapped around him as he turned it off, holding him in bed, was not.

“don’t get up yet,” Stretch murmured. His voice was still languid with sleep. 

Edge sank back down, intrigued and willing to skip his morning run if Stretch had something interesting in mind. He wasn’t often awake when Edge got up and it was best to take advantage of it when he was.

To his surprise, Stretch pushed the blankets down, leaving himself bare bones and Edge in his pajamas. Wordlessly, he shifted to straddle Edge’s back, a hand between his scapulas urging him to stay down. 

Edge struggled not to tense. This was different than their normal. Stretch's light weight was always welcome in his arms and lap. He'd never had it pinning him down before and it left him feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

"Wait," Edge said low, and Stretch went still. He started to slide back off and Edge reached back and caught one of his femurs to stop him. "No, don't move. Give me a moment."

Stretch stayed where he was. The warmth of his hands was starting to bleed through the thin material of Edge's pajama shirt, each finger-bone a delicate line of heat where they rested on his ribcage. 

He focused on that. Edge loved Stretch's hands, the long, slender bones were pale ivory, marred only by a yellowed stain between two fingers left by his cigarettes.

His own bones were rough, scarred. It would be more difficult to find a bone that he hadn't broken. Stretch never seemed to mind, he stroked over the smoother bone the same as the scars, not lingering in any appreciable way. Those hands were always eager to touch him, to clutch at him, to cup his jaw, his skull, and now, to rest gently against him as he waited.

“All right,” Edge sighed at last. His own hands were gripped together beneath the pillow, but he still managed to close his sockets and focus on the careful movement of Stretch’s fingertips over him. 

His pajama shirt was thin flannel. It was warm against the coolness of the room at night but no protection whatsoever against Stretch’s touch. Following the long curve of his ribs as far as they could before returning to his spine, the pressure increasing until Edge had to stifle a low moan into his pillow. 

He rarely gave Stretch the opportunity to do anything like this; his own eagerness to touch often overshadowed Stretch’s amicable laziness. Perhaps he should allow it more often. Stretch’s hands moved cleverly, gripping his lower spine through his shirt with tantalizing skill.

His weight eased as Stretch moved lower, his knees on either side of Edge’s femurs. He never delved beneath clothing. Those slim fingers found sensitive places through fabric knowingly, the sensation teasingly blunted as they wandered over his pelvis, his iliac crests, the nodule of his coccyx. 

Stretch shifted behind him and his weight was suddenly heavier, all down the length of Edge’s back. There was a telltale firmness against his pelvis through the back of his pajama pants. Slowly, Stretch moved against him, one hard drag of the shaft against his sacrum, then he paused.

"is this all right?" Stretch whispered. He was close enough that his teeth scraped the side of Edge’s skull when he spoke.

"Yes," Edge husked out. The rock of Stretch's pelvis against his own pushed his hips against the mattress. Edge was already hard, his magic had pooled down in his pelvic girdle the moment Stretch started touching him. The burn of friction from his pants against his cock was almost painful, unlike the softness of Stretch’s cunt or mouth. Strange and enticing, and Edge canted his hips, the angle increasing the pressure.

The rhythmic grunts breathed against his skull as Stretch thrust against him spoke of his pleasure, low and eager, despite the layer of cloth between them or perhaps because of it. Edge couldn’t say what was driving his husband, didn’t know why he was intent on rutting against him like this. He didn’t care; if Stretch wanted this, he was more than willing to give it to him.

The movement of his hips sped up, blunt fingertips digging in to Edge’s hip bones. That faint pinch of pain made him inhale sharply, letting it out as a moan as Stretch shuddered against him, his own breath hissing between his teeth and Edge could feel the wet blurts of heat falling across his sacrum and lumbar vertebrae, soaking into the thin material. 

It may well be perverse that it was the feeling of Stretch’s come falling over him that tipped him into his own orgasm. If so, Stretch didn’t seem to mind; his fingers were dragging lazily through the wet streaks with obscene approval. 

“there we are,” Stretch said thickly. His voice was blurred with satisfaction. 

Edge turned his head enough to look up at him. His own satiation was colored with curiosity. “Is that what you wanted? To come all over me?”

A flush of orange rose in Stretch’s cheekbones, but he didn’t look away. “yeah, i did. problem?”

“Not if you’re going to allow me to shower before I go to work.”

To his bemused delight, that flush of color heightened and Stretch flicked his tongue over his teeth nervously. “can you wait a little longer?”

Edge only looked at him for a long moment, letting that bright flush linger, before saying, “Of course.”

The quiet sigh of relief that Stretch exhaled brought up questions that Edge wasn’t going to ask, not right now. Not with Stretch shifting them to spoon up behind him, heedless of the mess on the clothes and sheets. 

If Stretch had the occasional urge to mark him in a more visceral manner than their rings, Edge certainly didn’t mind, particularly if he was willing to return the favor. He closed his sockets, absently tracking the time until he needed to get out of bed even as he pictured it, the stark crimson of his own magic on Stretch’s pale bones.

Something to look forward to for tonight.

-finis-


	10. In the Depths of My Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are two kinds of people: those who think 'Die Hard' is a holiday movie and those who are wrong. Also, Jeff is only saying what we're all thinking.

* * *

“i am despondent.”

Jeff looked away from the Christmas movie that Stretch had begged him to come over and watch with him. His text had been pleading that he needed a co-pilot and Edge was busy working. Also, Edge had declared that ‘Die Hard’ was not a true holiday movie and refused to watch it as one. 

That wasn’t an argument that Jeff wanted to step into the middle of, but he was willing enough to be a silent partner, particularly since Edge’s disdain for the movie hadn’t prevented him from making snacks. 

While he and Stretch were switching between talking through the movie and making their way through a small mountain of tiny quiches, Edge was in the corner at his desk with his laptop, the tap of his gloved fingers against his keyboard a muted staccato. Antwan had told him that he and Edge were trying to push through an important project before the holiday break, so they were working extra hours and that was why he’d canceled their date tonight. Not that Jeff didn’t believe him but the visual proof of Edge working away was reassuring.

Stretch, on the other hand, didn’t have what could be considered a real job unless you counted the part-time one he had sassing Edge. 

“You’re despondent,” Jeff repeated. He wasn’t sure Stretch needed a movie partner as much as he needed a straight man. “Why is that?”

Stretch shifted to sprawl out on the sofa, the top of his skull against Jeff’s leg. “i’ve been married two months now and i think the love is gone.”

“Yeah?” Jeff was trying not to grin. He knew a lead up when he heard one.

“yeah,” Stretch sighed mournfully. “watch this.” He scrambled to sit up and leaned over the sofa arm to call, “babe? can you get me a drink?”

Edge didn’t look up, still typing. “Unless you’ve recently broken a leg somehow by lying on the sofa, not only are you capable of walking, you are a rare individual gifted with the ability of teleportation. Embrace your uniqueness and shortcut your ass to the kitchen.”

With a sigh, Stretch sprawled back on the sofa. “see?”

“To be fair, he isn’t wrong.”

“of course he isn’t,” Stretch sniffed. On the screen, Bruce Willis was squirming his way through a vent. “he’s completely right and i muddle through every day when he’s at work. but when he gets me a drink, it’s made with _love_.”

“You’ll have to accept my calorie-free love for the time being.” Edge called absently.

“no one likes diet love!” Stretch shouted back. “no one!”

“You two are so adorable.”

Two set of eye lights were abruptly focused on him, one red and piercing, the other deeply amused, and Jeff realized he’d actually said that aloud. Edge only raised a brow bone while Stretch started laughing.

“Adorable,” Edge said slowly.

“oh, come on, edgelord,” Stretch snickered. “he’s so right. you’re adorable.”

“He said _we’re_ adorable, not me.”

Stretch blew a kiss in Edge’s direction and maybe the love wasn’t completely gone, because Edge paused in his typing to mimic catching it. Yeah, fucking adorable, that, every time, way to prove his point. 

Stretch seemed to think so, too, his smile was soft, “we as in me and thee, babe. adorable like puppies, kittens, and baby moldsmals.”

…moldsmals? Jeff added that to the mental google list he always had when he spent time with Stretch. He could have happily sat and watched the two of them snark the rest of the night but a glance at the clock had Jeff wincing. 

“I need to get going if I’m going to catch the bus home,” Jeff said apologetically. Which completely sucked, the movie was only half over. 

Before he could even stand, Edge spoke up, “I can give you a ride.”

“It’s late,” Jeff protested. Tempting, but…“and you work tomorrow.”

Stretch made leaving even harder by shifting to set his head firmly into Jeff’s lap, weighing him down. “nah, he doesn’t sleep all that much anyway, andy, but if it’s bugging you, stay the night. we have a guest room.”

He shouldn’t, Jeff knew he was taking advantage of their good nature, he really shouldn’t. But he so wanted to stay. Jeff swallowed hard and tried, meekly, “I really shouldn’t…” 

“you stay over at antwan’s,” Stretch pointed out.

“Slightly different reasons,” Jeff sighed. But the movie was only halfway through and Edge would probably insist on driving him and…and…

“Okay,” Jeff finally said, giving in. It was getting entirely too easy to give in to these guys, first his student loans, and then there was Thanksgiving, and now this. Too easy and a tiny part of himself warned Jeff not to get too used to it, he knew better, he did. 

He shoved that down. Stretch was his friend and hadn’t done a damn thing to earn his doubt and neither had Edge. His little mental voices could shove off. 

Stretch actually clapped his hands in delight, though he didn’t vacate Jeff’s lap. “awesome! i’ve never had a sleepover. don’t worry, no one will draw dicks on your face when you fall asleep, red is banned from the house until he learns to knock.”

Well, that was a delicious bit of news that spoke of gossip. “What did he do?”

The bright orange flooding Stretch’s cheekbones confirmed his suspicions and Edge made a low, amused sound. “Yes, love, tell him what Red did.”

Which meant Edge thought it was funny and that Stretch’s embarrassment was funnier. Jeff did always love their little petty revenges against each other. 

“never mind!” Stretch sputtered, finally sitting up. “there will be no dicks of any sort at our sleepover.”

“No new dicks,” Jeff corrected and Stretch laughed, nodding along.

“Okay, yes, all current dicks can stay,” he giggled. He wriggled on the sofa again, settling his feet into Jeff’s lap and he absently shifted to allow it. He’d learned long ago that sitting on a sofa with Stretch was an exercise in patience with both his squirmy nature and his blatant ignoring of personal space. It was fine with Jeff, if he’d minded, he would have taken a chair. 

The movie played on, with all the necessary yippee ki-yay motherfuckers required. Later, snuggled into the bed in their guestroom, surrounded by the smell of freshly washed sheets, Jeff had no trouble nodding off. He’d never had a sleepover, either, and with shy sleepiness he checked that off his mental bucket list. 

Sleepover with his best friend; done. 

-finis-


	11. Between Meals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one is starving in this corner of the universe. Not if Edge has any say in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a weird thing for Edge having issues about food and wanting to feed people. It's a thing.

* * *

Hunger wasn’t the same for a skeleton Monster as it was for most others. There was no growling tummy, no truly visible signs. Their gnawing ache came from somewhere deeper, one that lingered in the soul rather than the belly, and could only truly be detected if the one looking for it wasn’t afraid of the consequences of Checking. 

It was how Red had concealed the worst of their childhood days from him. Edge hadn’t figured out what his brother was keeping secret until he had been old enough to do something about it, going to work for the guard to bring in extra money. Coming to this universe and discovering that Red’s height and HP weren’t the cost of years of borderline starvation was a source of guilt-stricken relief for Edge and always would be. He would never know exactly how much his brother had gone without to ensure he had been kept meagerly fed but the refrigerator in his home often held red-lidded containers filled with his brother’s favorites. Pasta swimming with sauce and cheese, chili con carne, loaded with peppers and perfect for spooning over the hot dogs that were always in one of the drawers. 

Edge never told him they were there and Red never asked about them, and when the dishes were empty, Edge only washed them to be filled again. Stretch never mentioned it either, only moved the containers out of the way whenever he dug through the refrigerator for whatever Edge had left for him, in his own blue-lidded containers. 

It wasn’t only his brother who fell prey to his urges. Whenever Stretch ended up surrounded by his neighborhood minions, Edge found himself giving in to the impulse to feed them.

None of these children were hungry, their cheeks were round and flush with health. They laughed and chased each other, made snowmen and had snowball fights, sprawled out to make angels in the piles of whiteness around their home. 

Reminiscent of another home, a lifetime away. 

He remembered other children, the wan, listless little ones of Snowdin whenever the supply lines failed, their hollow-cheeked parents worse off still and…Edge knew these children were not those ones. He knew it.

He still found time to bake treats for them. Healthy treats, apple oatmeal muffins and cookies made with wheat flour. Whole grain brownies that were devoured the moment he brought them out and donuts still warm from the fryer eagerly stolen. 

Their glee when he offered them stilled a frantic little flutter in his soul, eased it. This was not Snowdin and these children were not starving, and with every snack Edge gave them, he proved it. 

On Friday night, he and Stretch were lying on the sofa together. Rather, Edge was sitting, and Stretch was sprawled out, more in his lap than not, sighing as Edge gently stroked his skull with gloved fingertips. This was the third time they’d watch the Muppet Christmas Carol this month, but it was Stretch’s favorite and Edge couldn’t say he minded. Not when he got to have Stretch close to him, soft and warm and content. It really was the best part of his day.

The knock on the door was unexpected. Stretch stood up before he could, yawning. 

“nah, stay there, keep the sofa warm. if i don’t move i’ll fall asleep.” He slouched his way over to the door. It was probably one of their brothers or possibly Papyrus. He’d been wanting to finish up the details on their Gyftmas day celebration and it was entirely possible he’d stop by. 

He did not expect Stretch to say in surprise, “janice? is everything okay?”

“Oh, yes.” Came from the other side of the door, “I was hoping to speak with…ah, Edge!”

He had been on his feet before she could finish, wracking his memory for any reason his secretary could be on his doorstep on a Friday night. “What’s wrong?”

Janice gave him a warm smile and shook her head. Next to her was a child that Edge recognized as one that regularly came over for Stretch’s little events. “Oh, nothing at all! It’s just that my son has been telling me the two of you are feeding him on the weekends.”

“I…yes,” Edge said slowly. Her intent came into brutal focus. Surely she was here to ask him to stop and she was well within her right to do so. He should have asked the children to check with their parents to begin with, they weren’t his children, not his responsibility any more than the children in Snowdin had been and—

_(He’d been the captain of the guard, his duty was to protect them, he’d failed them in the end, always failed them)_

“Well, you can’t be the only one supplying these little Monsters with snacks,” Janice said cheerily. “Oscar and I made chocolate-banana muffins for them tomorrow.” She held out a package and numbly, Edge took it, feeling the light weight of the baked goods through the paper sack. “I thought I may as well bring them over now since they usually end up in your yard by noon. I heard there was an experiment this weekend?” She arched an eyebrow at Stretch.

“we aren’t blowing anything up,” Stretch assured her. His grin was probably not reassuring. “not yet.”

“So long as you aren’t blowing up the children,” she said dryly. “Anyway, have fun tomorrow!”

“I…thank you,” Edge managed. 

“yeah, thank you!” Stretch said cheerily. He crouched down to Oscar’s level and the child seemed oddly shy in his mother’s presence. “gonna help me out tomorrow with the experiment?”

He nodded timidly and Stretch grinned. “good, i can always use an assistant. see you tomorrow, kiddo!”

“Good night!” Janice called, and she took her son by the hand and led him down the walkway. 

Stretch closed the door behind them. “that was nice of her. think they’ll miss one of those tomorrow?”

He reached out for the bag and Edge instinctively held it out of reach. “This is for the children.”

“c’mon, i bet she made lots!” Stretch tried to reach around him, blinking as Edge planted a hand on his sternum and pushed him firmly back.

“There’s food in the kitchen. This is for the children,” Edge said, too sharply. He was being ridiculous, he knew he was, Janice had surely made plenty and yet…

His husband’s expression softened, the sudden understanding as painful as it was soothing. “it’s all good, babe. put them up, yeah? i bet the kids will like them tomorrow.”

He nodded slowly, fluttering anxiety in his soul easing, and walked away to do just that. The kitchen was quiet, empty, and he set the bag on the back of the counter, and hesitated. 

The light from the refrigerator was stark as he opened it and each shelf was filled, with containers of finished food, with ingredients, plenty to eat for anyone who opened the door. There was a blue-lidded container of lemon bars on one shelf, Stretch’s favorite, and each one was cut the same size, carefully dusted with powdered sugar. Edge took the container out of the fridge, started to grab a plate and paused. 

Instead, he took the entire container out to where Stretch was waiting for him. 

His love could have as many as he wanted. 

-finis-


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This doesn't even count as a drabble, it's more of a tidbit, but it was cute enough to add. ;)

* * *

“You do realize we have an actual fireplace.”

Stretch turned over, settling his head firmer into Edge’s lap as he looked up at him. “are you making fun of my ‘ultimate yule log’ dvd?”

“It would seem I am.”

The cheerily burning fire blazing out from their television crackled briskly onward, unconcerned that half its audience was brutally unimpressed with its performance.

“oh, come on, edgelord! with this kind of fire, there is no muss, no fuss, and no cleanup!”

“There’s also no heat,” Edge pointed out, though his fingertips were gentle as they stroked over Stretch’s skull. “the point of a fire is warmth, not only the aesthetic.”

“there’s also tracks for holiday music!” Stretch huffed, trying to snag the remote without losing his place on Edge’s lap. “i paid all of a dollar for it at the thrift store, i wanna get my money’s worth!”

“Frankly, I think they should have paid you to take it and been grateful.” Edge nudged Stretch off him, ignoring his whine of protest, and went over to the actual fireplace. “Give me ten minutes to get this going.”

“fine,” Stretch sighed, even as he tucked his blanket tighter around himself, already looking forward to the coming warmth. And anyway, getting a good view of Edge bending over to light the fire was more than worth the price.

fin


	13. Twas the Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twas the night before Gyftmas and all through the house, two skellies were stirring. Let's see what they do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last stocking stuffer drabble and they were lots of fun to write! Let's end on a hugely schmoopy note, shall we?

* * *

The fire was burning with a crackle of dancing flames, sending waves of soothing warm over the two skeletons settled in front of the fireplace. Edge tucked the blanket closer around Stretch where he was snuggled in against him, his back to the glowing flames. 

He leaned down enough to murmured against his skull. “Are you warm enough?” 

“mmmhmm,” Stretch sighed. His face was more or less buried into Edge’s shirt and between the blankets and the floor pillows, they were surrounded in extravagant comfort. 

Edge smiled a little, prodding at his husband if only to keep him awake. “Are you sure?”

“i’m warm enough to toast marshmallows on my ass, edgelord, i’m fine,” Stretch mumbled sleepily. But he turned his head upward to look at him with hazy eye lights and it was enough for Edge to lean in and capture his mouth in a soft, slow kiss. Even his tongue was languid, moving lazily against Edge’s and he gave the tip a gentle nip to hear Stretch squeak, the kiss deepening into something a little more eager. 

Tomorrow they would be celebrating Gyftmas and though they’d had a handful together as a couple, this would be their first as spouses. Edge was no seer, but he could see the day laid out as clearly as a vision, how it would proceed. 

First, Stretch would wake up far earlier than normal, excited to finally be able to open the gifts that had been piling up beneath their tree. Edge had made a point to find several of the ugliest things he could with chickens on them, including an apron for those rare moments Stretch was inspired to assist him in baking and a set of small plushies that resembled their small brood that Stretch could add to his cluttered desk in the lab. 

There were several books that Edge knew his love didn’t already own, a pair of Converse that he’d had custom-made in a bright orange plaid since the sole was beginning to peel away from Stretch’s favorites. Stretch was a little peculiar about replacing things and he preferred new items that weren’t a mirror image to the previous. 

For his part, he was expecting a couple of tasteful ties that Antwan helped Stretch pick out and at least one horrific one that Jeff had. Stretch’s style was questionable but at least he knew it and knew when to give in and ask for help. He couldn’t begin to guess what was in the rest of the packages, some of them obviously and raggedly wrapped by Stretch and some that looked as if he’d taken advantage of the shop’s gift-wrapping booth. Whatever they were, no matter how novel or plain, Edge knew each one had been carefully chosen. 

They had presents for all their family and friends, most of them wrapped by Edge; point of fact, they’d gone a little overboard this year. Everyone had. Jeff’s shy and winsome nature had earned him a place with the others when he’d joined them for Thanksgiving and in an effort to get his pride to accept a few overly-generous gifts, they’d gotten extra for everyone. That had been Papyrus’s idea; he could be particularly devious when he wanted, his unexpectedly evil genius coming in that he loved presents, opening and giving, and would take any excuse for extras. 

If Edge had his way, Jeff would already be working at the Embassy and earning a better paycheck, but Humans could be very prickly about that sort of thing. It was the main reason Antwan had stayed in Ebott rather than flying out to visit his relatives, the simple fact that Jeff wouldn’t be with him. 

It didn’t matter, Edge had a strategy laid out. It was a work in progress.

Gyftmas morning would be spent opening gifts and the afternoon would be a chaos of food and games and laughter. Overwhelming and wonderful, with half of them snoozing on the sofa by midday and the other half arguing between cleanup and deciding how long to let their brothers sleep, and whether it was too early for dessert or if all rules on food were set aside for this one day.

Tonight, though, was for him and Stretch alone. With a blazing fire in front of them and soft blankets around them, Edge held his love close, sharing kiss after kiss. Stretch's mouth was sweet with the wine they’d been drinking, with his own magic, and his little sighs were filled with contentment. 

The tree behind them shimmered with lights, a tempting bounty of presents beneath its branches. Holiday music carrying softly on the air, offering to enhance the mood but Edge’s attention was completely on the skeleton in his arms.

Languid hands drifted over Edge’s skull, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, his jaw, gentle and with tender reverence. Not to hold him still, only to hold him for another sweet press of a mouth against his. If a kiss could be a gift, each one of these would be filled love, and here in the warm safety of the home they’d built together, Edge wanted give as many as he could. 

-finis-


End file.
